


Where Is My Mind?

by goluath



Category: Community
Genre: Blowjobs, Bodily Fluids, F/M, Fingerfucking, One Shot, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goluath/pseuds/goluath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff and Britta have pre-class sex. For no discernable reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Is My Mind?

**Author's Note:**

> Set in and around S2 E21. No spoilers.

Another gray November morning dawns over Greendale Community College and Britta Perry cuts a solitary figure in the dim library, swaddled in an extra large hoodie and swilling coffee. She's been up since five and has only reached the midway point in her study notes when approaching footsteps make her sit up straight. She freezes with travel mug poised, when Jeff Winger swings himself around the door, bursting into a Pixies’ chorus.

 

It takes but a moment for him to spot her, feign a heart attack and disentangle himself from his headphones.

 

“Wow. Eyes-closed singing, Winger? _Really_?” He blinks in the brightness of the study room. It's 6.30am and he's unusually early, to cram for an exam whose class he's not attended since the first day of semester.

 

“What are you doing here?” He dumps a backpack on the desk, yellow legal pad bound up with elastic bands and a brown pear tumbling out onto the surface. 

“Studying, same as you.” Britta tilts her head. “Unless you got something fun planned with that shapely pear.”

 

Jeff's throat burns as he refrains from making a wisecrack. “How'd you get in? You bribe one of Troy's janitor friends?”

 

Britta taps her nose, irritatingly smug. “Well, let's just say... one of us has boobs.”

 

Jeff wrinkles his nose and nods, acknowledging the existence of said boobs. She's wearing some kind of tube top – in an alternate riot grrl shade of khaki, granted - but a tube top nonetheless.

 

“Eyes up here, Winger.”

 

He beams unconvincingly, maintaining a watchful sight on her braless goddamn perky tits out of the corner of his eye. He's a pro but she catches on when he continues to nod for 15 consecutive seconds without saying anything.

 

“Hey man, I thought we'd put a stop to all of that. Y’know, viewing each other as sexual... -” she waggles her pen in his general direction - “As _that_.” She states flatly, eyes back to her textbook.

 

Jeff slides into his usual seat beside her and Britta shifts imperceptibly, glancing through a curtain of blonde hair at him. He’s already bent over his tiny compact writing, with his navy blue cotton sleeves rolled to the elbow, errant hairs brushed backwards on his forearm.

 

“Do you have to sit so _close_?” she snarls. Hands flying to the table, she shoves her chair back to move away. Anywhere but here.

 

Astonishment on his face, palms extended, Jeff stands up, face to face with her. Jeff Winger never looks surprised. She smirks in spite of herself.

 

“What's your problem? Can't I study in the same room as you now?” A flash of anger passes over him and she's guarded, hands on hips.

She shakes her head. “No. No, of course. It’s just, I can _smell you_.”

His mind spins at how her brain operates. _Twisted_. “What?”

“I can smell you,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest. “It's not helpful to me.”

 

“Well, neither is your chest, which I know you think you're covering up but newsflash – when women fold their arms - all defensive like you are – it just makes boobs look bigger.” He retorts nonsensically, all the while remaining self righteous, in typical Winger fashion.

 

Indignantly, she drops her arms to swing at her sides. Open-mouthed, about potentially deliver a no-doubt lame response, she's nearly glad when he grabs her and shuts her up with a forceful tongue halfway down her throat.

 

She wriggles as Jeff firstly yanks her top upwards, catching her underarms awkwardly. Failing that, she pulls it to her waist, shucks down her pants over her shoes. Jeff ducks to unlace her sneakers. She leans on his shoulder as he removes each shoe and sock. Gasping wordlessly, Britta divests Jeff of his belt and jeans, drags his long sleeved tee over his head with a strength that leaves him reeling, if he’s honest.

 

He scoops her up, wildeyed and fidgety in his arms. Making split decisions comes naturally to him, and judging by the hungry look in her eyes, Britta’s on the same page as he is.

 

Jeff supports her back with one lean arm and reaches between her legs. He’s impressed with himself - despite the chill of the early morning, he’s becoming hard as soon as her scent hits his nostrils. He takes in Britta’s heavy-lidded gaze as he sucks on his fingers to warm them, massages her lips and spreads her moisture up and down the length of her and around her clit. He probes lightly, knowingly; thrusts one, two fingers inside of her. She sighs and sinks down, heavy on his bent legs. She’s wet as hell, has been since he entered the room.

 

When she rights her head and catches his eye, he lets out a shuddering breath and pushes inside her - he's without a condom and fucking _Christ_ she's tight.

 

Britta's arms are behind her, braced against the desk. Aware of the pressure Jeff's under, she shifts her weight to the upper half of her body and unhooks her legs from around Jeff's sides. He huffs and shunts her onto the desk with a grunt and a squeak of her sweaty back dragging across the plywood finish. His thumbs crooked under her knees, he pushes her legs back and continues fucking into her, feverish and dizzy.

 

Although shes on the bottom, Britta's not passive by any means; with every thrust from him there's a equal and opposite reaction - he’s rock hard and he can _feel_ her squeezing around him, heels digging into his back and trimmed nails spiking his scalp. There's stimulation from all angles. Jeff's a tall guy and the desk is a decent height; high enough that he's not having to bend much, but even at that the penetration is unfamiliar enough to Britta that he's hitting parts of her pussy that she's not used to feeling, despite her alternative personality, she's not one to deviate from anything more adventurous than missionary or girl-on-top.

 

She's whimpering. She's never been a screamer and she's not about to put on a show just for Jeff. Worrying her bottom lip she pants out: " _J- Je- Je..._ ", while he blinks up into the fluorescent light to stave off natural progression. " _You can't_... you can't come...."

 

He nods furiously, teeth chattering. It's like everything in his life he's ever been addicted to - telling lies; snarking off; and (for one month in junior high) masturbating on the roof - he knows he ought to stop soon but it's _so so so so so_ "JEFF!" Britta yelps, nails raking down his front, not-so-gently kicking him away.

 

He pulls out. Swearing softly and huffing out desperate breaths, he drops down to her breasts. They're tacky with perspiration. He barely has the energy to nuzzle up to her - _what would 14 year old Winger say_? before Britta offers to finish him off.

 

He jerks his head up and takes in post-coital Britta. A sight that’s fast becoming his favourite image in the world. She's flushed and grinning, her chest a pleasing pink. A smear of eyeliner or eyeshadow or something is horizontally running from under her right eye. She makes no effort to hide her naked body and he takes a moment to drink in the sight like a condemned man that's been allowed one more glimpse of a sunset. Their relationship is sporadic at best, so he's not counting on being able to see her like this for a while, in this unaltered, vulnerable state.

 

"Let me, uh... do you first," he offers, sounding foolish but feeling gallant.

 

She ducks her chin and props herself up on her elbows. "Do your worst." Her eyes challenge him, narrowing as her grin widens, cheshire-slow.

 

He briefly strokes himself, mainly to document his own hardness in the hopes of recreating this one day. Stooping once more, he takes his middle two fingers and circles around her velvety lips. Eyes on the task, he dips these crooked fingers into Britta's hole. It's a honeypot, like sinking into a hot bath. Britta croons and arches into the touch. Physically, he's more detached from her than he was a couple of moments ago, but this feels ten times more intimate. He takes his sweet time, revelling in the response pouring out of her. He brushes his fingertips over her dusky pink nipples, lightly sweeping across her breastbone and clavicles. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps. He can't help but to bend across her, tongue retracing the same path. Her eyes closed, she exhales sharply as he licks her from nipple to neck, clitoris to bellybutton.

 

Britta was close to coming while they fucked. Jeff's capitalising on this sensitivity and with a pleasurable wet noise and his own long fingers, he experiments for a moment until a guttural squawk tells him he's found her spot.

 

Fingerfucking her, upwards and across, he establishes a rhythm and soon she's digging her nails into his arm, grabbing onto his toned tan forearm, willing him deeper. His limber fingers pump rhythmically , while his other hand winds into her hair, tugging on hanks of her hair at an increasingly faster pace, his eyes roving up and down her body. She's raising her pelvis to meet him at every thrust. Jeff's hand is squelching - not unpleasantly, he's always enjoyed the visceral sounds of fucking - when she freezes up and her ass lowers back down to the desk by degrees.

 

She's still holding her breath when his fingers slowly slip out. She crosses her legs, raises her knees to her stomach. No longer wrapped up in her hair, his hand cups her cheek and with her eyes clamped shut, she turns and moans softly into his loosely cupped palm. Her lower body trembles. She rubs her thighs with shaky hands. He lightly palms the erect downy hair on her side until she grabs his wrist - silently begging him to desist.

 

"Brit? Are you, are you okay?" He coughs, voice croaking.

 

She nods, eyes clamped shut. Jeff furrows his brow. "Are you going to go ... asleep?"

 

She laughs, quickly and without grace at this idea. "Winger... have you _any_ idea...?" She drops her words carelessly, sprawling on the desk top, jaded but happy.

 

Jeff's harder than ever. He coughs and helpfully reminding her of his own predicament, brushes the tip of his penis against Britta's leg.

 

"I think I need some Gatorade first." She sits up straight on the desk, bleary-eyed but happy.

"There's a redbull in my car..." Jeff suggests, half-joking.

"I'll soldier on," Britta smirks. "Lay down."

 

Jeff obliges and lies width-ways across the studyroom desk, arms folded behind his head. His cock bobs, a flushed exclamation mark, and Britta kneels at his hips, wincing as her lower legs touch a cold section of the surface. Jeff jerks his head as her cold legs touch his.

 

She sarcastically coos soothing noises and pushes him back to a lying down position. Palming the shaft in her left, she rubs his muscled torso with her other hand and without warning takes the leaking head of his cock into her mouth. He groans and whispers insincere prayers of gratitude heavenward. She sinks her reddened lips down onto his length, rolling her eyes at the over appreciative words of encouragement from his end.

 

She can imagine his view and her face heats up with the porny eroticism of it all. She gently tugs his balls, unsure of the etiquette as always. From Jeff's happy moans, she'll assume she got this one right. He winds a searching hand into the hair that’s dangling down over her face and pushes it back from her eyes.

 

The delight that she is the cause of this ridiculously hard penis – _nay_ , the recipient of it - warms up her belly and wends its way excitedly up and down her spine and floods into her pussy. She's still wet - wondering with a mixture of curiousity and arousal whether it's dripping from her, onto his thighs. Lapping an eager tongue from his tightened balls to the head and back down and around again like he were a particularly delicious popsicle, Britta goes hands-free, digging her thumbs into the hollows of his hips, tracing the vee of his pelvis and lightly scratching his lower belly. She's moving faster now, focusing solely on the tip of his penis. He's cut, and she catches his eye on the descent of her suck, locking eyes as she pulls back up, her small bottom teeth deliberately catching the most sensitive part of his cock.

 

A stifled shout rumbles from far back in his throat as he's about to come. He lets himself go with a slight grimace and tries to sit up, preparing an immediate apology. The apology dies in his throat when Britta - _amazing, gorgeous, considerate_ Britta - keeps eye contact and swallows him down. All of him. He's fazed and silly and babbling but she sucks him to the end.

 

He flops bonelessly onto his back, dragging her with him. She's grinning and he tugs her close to him, a warm hand around her shoulders. "Must be nearly time for class." Jeff murmurs, eyes closed. Britta nods into his chest. He shuts his eyes.

 

Milliseconds later he’s roused by the crackle of the intercom and a kick in the head from Britta, scrambling over him to get to her clothes before the library opens its doors.


End file.
